The Renewing Power of Book Fairs and Time Changes

I haven't been writing. I've been being. Hibernating, binge watching Doc Martin. Bracing myself for the next phone call or text that might signal further decline in my grandfather's health.

It's hard work to be human. To feel all the feelings and still pay the bills, sit in traffic, get to Parent Teacher conference, put a meal on the table.

I don't regret the weeks I've vegged on my couch, cozy with a heating pad to ease the tension in my neck and a warm cup of tea to take the nip out of the evening chill.

I've been ministered to by the presence of a quirky cast of characters who are making their way through the ups and downs of life in a seashore village. Their scripts have made me laugh out loud and shed tears--the very best hallmarks of being human.

After tonight's parent teacher conference, my daughter accompanied me to the "learning commons" also known to grown ups as the library to check out the book fair merchandise. I hadn't planned to spend much money. I purchase books from her teachers' wish lists as a way to support the school and sometimes books as gifts for upcoming birthdays or holidays. But I'd just had a conversation with her teacher about how adding more reading for pleasure would be a good thing. This mini-me deviates from the mama mold when it comes to reading. So when she picked up a hardcover copy of Wonder, [read: more than I wanted to spend] I relented. I told her I would buy it if she agreed to read it on our upcoming road trip. [read: I kinda sorta bribed my kid.]

Her dad was waiting for her in the school parking lot, so I walked her out to the car and returned to continue shopping. I reminded myself that money spent on books and travel is never a waste, so I read the synopses of several other titles and chose another title for her birthday.

I was full of wonder as I read the plots of these stories for young readers. I was reminded of the reading adventures I took as a fourth grader. I marveled at the story lines--they were telling the hardships of life. They depicted children in difficult circumstances making their way through. They were covering heavy topics, which reminded me about the power of reading and story and the important way that reading helps us grow in knowledge, empathy, and being human. I was reminded how stories teach readers at every age about grit and resilience, the power to overcome and how to heal.

I felt overcome with gratitude for my literacy and for the love that has brought me to the bookshelves again and again and again and again. I also felt an ache to return to the stories swirling in my head. The hard things waiting for me to be courageous to type on the screen. The messages from my own life that I hope convey to future readers, "You are not alone."

I am certain the extra daylight combined with my brush with books in one of the best places on earth--the elementary school library--are the reasons for a reinvigorated sense of energy and purpose. And why I'm sitting at my kitchen table typing as the sky trades out sunlight for moonlight. I challenged myself to stay away from the comfy place on my sofa until after I'd published this post. I'm on such a roll now, I may put off the TV viewing a little longer.

I don't regret the time I've spent away from the daily writing. With some time away, I always return restored. Packed with fresh energy, insights, and enthusiasm.

Here's to the readers and the writers. And more daylight.

A Tale from Blueville

“Julie, do you have a headache today?” asked my coworker. I thought she was inquiring because my office was lit by lamp light only.

I nodded, miserable.

“I'm asking because I woke up with a headache too. It must be the weather.”

I mentioned that I would probably benefit from having a good cry and the next thing I knew, her arms were wrapped around me. She was cooing to me as a loving mother sings to her baby. Her kindness unleashed sobs that shook my achy body.

I don't cry easily when I'm solitary, which means I carry around the weight of needing to cry along with the usual stressers of daily life and as well as the heaviness of not so ordinary concerns. My colleague validated me, honored the sad place I was in, and listened to me as I said the hard things outloud.

Another colleague offered me some Excederin, which I accepted curious if it would help. It did.

I sat in the dim light and forged ahead with my work at a slower, gentler pace than I'm usually capable of.

Blueville.

That's what I'm calling this place I'm currently in.

What's remarkable is that I haven't felt a bout of this sadness for months. It's been really great. I have felt light and happy. But the thing about the past few days is that I'm reminded about the impermanence that is woven into all of life. The bad stuff won't last forever, but neither will the good.

I haven't been writing lately, which contributes to my low moods. But I'm navigating the terrain of being a granddaughter without grandparents. My grandfather's health has quickly declined, and I am pondering what my life will look like when he is no longer physically accessible. He provides me with a unique brand of love and support, and I am mulling over what it will mean to miss it when it is gone.

As I ponder, I have spent most of my free time laying under the warmth of a blanket on my couch binge-watching a British series on Netflix. My to-do list has remained unchecked: wash the dishes, return checked-out items to the library, grocery shop.

I call this relaxation self-care, and I know I have come a long way in being kinder to myself because I haven't chastised myself for the hours I've spent doing nothing.

Embracing brief stays in Blueville helps me lean into the discomfort and disorientation of feeling sad. It reminds me that it's a human thing to be sad, and that I don't need to be fixed. Some problems don't have solutions. They just take up residency in our hearts and minds, and they ease only when we invite them in rather than resist.

I have come so far in understanding my life and my place in it, but this stop over in Blueville also reminds me that I still have a way to go. There is still stuff—hard stuff—I have to learn. And the best way to get from here to there is with patience and kindness. Laying on the couch last night, I realized that while I didn't love how I felt, I wasn't frightened of these strong feelings like I was a year ago.

Another friend messaged me encouragement. I gulped down his comforting words and belief in my abilities to write, to inspire, and to keep growing in the direction I want to go like a thirsty runner.

What I also know now better than a year ago, is that the more I welcome these brief stints in Blueville, the sooner the moment passes.

Twenty-four hours later, I feel the migraine pain receding and my heavy heart feels lighter. Blueville will soon be seen through the rear view mirror of my mind. The beautiful thing about pain is the relief and renewed energy I feel when it eases, as it always does.

The Advice Column

I have really been missing my friend Lois lately. She was old enough to be my grandmother, but we never considered our age difference. We simply loved each other, laughed a lot, and had great conversations about important, deep matters. I've encountered a tricky situation recently. One that no matter what I do, or don't do, it won't seem to resolve itself.

I have daydreamed about what discussing this issue with Lois would sound like. What questions would she ask? What advice would she offer?

Last week I got a text from another dear friend who writes an advice column. "I have a favor to ask. No questions were submitted this week. Do you have a question you could submit?" I immediately thought of the scenario I wanted Lois's help with, typed up my question, and sent it to my friend.

This columnist has a knack for writing thoughtful responses to often times tricky situations. I read every column knowing that I will read grace in action, measured yet firm responses to people's questions, worries, and quandaries. I was excited to pose the question and to read what advice she had for me.

She did not disappoint. The next day her column was delivered to my email inbox. I read her words and was stunned. In the midst of her beautiful prose and thoughtful contemplation, she included these words: "To thine own self be true." This was Lois's favorite phrase. She used it all the time.

I couldn't believe it. I knew instantly that God, Spirit, Universe, call it what you want, had given me what I had been seeking through another friend. It was marvelous and mysterious, comforting and calming. Of course, that's what Lois would have told me. To thine own self be true.

The serendipity was undeniable. I called my friend. I had to tell her this story, how uncanny it was that she used the exact phrase that Lois would have used. We gushed about our wonder and awe and how happy we were that we both had a special part to play in this particular story.

I've been struggling lately with the intersection where organized religion and spiritual encounters meet. I feel disillusioned by the loud voices that get the most air time. The voices that do not articulate my experience of God, faith, and wisdom. I've pushed against feeling misrepresented and wondered how to navigate that uncomfortable territory.

Finding Lois's beautiful phrase in another friend's approach to my problem confirmed that the struggle I'm having is not with God, but with the man-made elements to approaching and knowing God. As I articulated all of this to my friend, I heard myself say, "I may be confused by a lot of things, but one thing I know is that God and me, we're okay."

Okay? With the gift of Lois's words handed to me, I'd say I'm more than okay. I trust that the situation will sort itself out in its own time and that my responsibility to it is more patience, more kindness, and leaning into the discomfort and avoiding the inclination to go out of my way to "make it better." And as far as my doubts go, I know I'm in good hands. God can handle things while I make my way through my doubts.

I'm going to be true to myself and trust that everything will fall in place.

Thank you Lois and M. 

A Few Words about Posture

One of my first memories of self-improvement occurred in the basement of my elementary school. It was the hub of technology of its time: it housed the film projector science and social studies lessons were dispensed. We littles would descend the stairway into a big empty room with maroon and grey checkered linoleum. Our teachers would help us form rows where we would sit knee-to-knee next to our classmates, hoping we hit the jackpot in the sit-next-to-or-near-a-friend lottery.

That linoleum was hard. Especially for my bony little bottom. And those filmstrips flickered across the screen went on forever. I noticed that the longer the film played the more my back would ache. I was a ballet dancer, and I knew a few things about posture. Sitting on this floor, I exhibited the worse posture. To get my mind off the discomfort and the long-winded science film, I challenged myself to sit up straight for as long as possible. It took practice, but my back grew stronger and the film viewing became more comfortable.

Surprisingly, this habit stuck. I've maintained good posture. This school basement scenario rushed back to me as I sat in my office churning out end-of-year acknowledgment letters. It's a daunting assignment. Hundreds of gifts arrive in the final weeks of the year and my job is to prepare the letters in a timely manner. In his memoir, What I Talk about When I Talk about Running, Haruki Murakami writes about the similar stamina required to train for a long-distance race and to sit at a desk and write long passages.

This insight resonates for me. Each year as the letter deluge approaches, I strategize how I'm going to improve the process, so I am not frazzled by the end. 

In the past I'd noted that as my energy waned and fatigue set in, I would assume a deep slouch. On those days, my energy wouldn't rebound. This year, I employed good posture and would you believe, I never experienced the level of fatigue I had in previous years. Sure, I was tired at the end of the day, but I was able to produce a good number of letters every day.

One day for a brain break, I googled “health benefits of good posture.” At this blog site, I found an answer to my query and an explanation for why I was getting through this season's high volume better than in the past, “Sitting upright makes you more alert, concentrated, and productive. The reason is that when you slouch, your body takes in as much as 30% less oxygen than you’d take in with good posture. This means that when you slouch, it is much harder to keep your energy up.” As the weeks worn on and I cranked out more work, I corrected every time I felt myself starting to slouch.

Having a strong back requires having a strong core. As I sat at my desk, I could feel my core muscles engaged in ways I recognize when I'm practicing yoga on my mat. Strong core muscles are integral to a healthy, straight spine. As I wrote my “Dear Donor” letters, I felt a metaphor for life bouncing around in my mind.

My straight posture and strong core were demonstrating the positive effects of what my mind needs to weather the stresses of daily life. Hard things come our way all the time: difficulties and misunderstandings in relationships; longing to see friends who live long distance; idle time spent in slow-moving commuter traffic; a stone thrown through the screen of your kitchen window (this really happened this week, and the subject of a future blog post.)

What my body is teaching my mind is that approaching these difficulties with a strong mental posture prevents fatigue from setting in—even when I'm tired and I think I can't take any more. Yesterday, I finished the back log of letters. The final tally was 779. By the end of February I may hit 800 letters. While I am weary from the volume, I am not gutted with exhaustion. I have found a strategy that works—for my writing and my life.

I'm forging ahead poised with a straight back.

Where Will I be in Two Years? A Post of Rambling Thoughts

I've written about it before. God whispers to me through the books I read and guides me to my next epiphany. I will have passed over a book on my to-read list for ages and then one day, I look at its title and know it's time to check it out at the library. Between the covers of these books I will find EXACTLY WHAT I NEEDED TO READ IN THIS MOMENT.  What's remarkable is knowing--and trusting--that I would not have had the same experience had I read the book at an earlier point. That's what makes being led by the Divine Librarian such a rich, beneficial experience.

I woke early and devoured the last forty pages of the latest book in my reading treasure hunt. I have long been a fan of Martha Beck's work. My journals are peppered with her words. Her words have been a steadying force in my pursuit of a life of peace and joy and service.

I am in that in-between place. Avid readers know it: the book is finished; the story is over, but you can't resume regular life. Nothing seems worthy of your time--not unloading the dishwasher or starting a new title. Her book, Leaving the Saints - How I Lost the Mormons and Found my Faith is a riveting story. I was gobsmacked by her ability to tell such a difficult story especially knowing the pressure she was under to keep things under wraps. She mentored for me how to tell hard things, how to trust yourself and your story, how to have hard conversations. Our stories are vastly different, but we share the same human quest for God and meaning. She gifted me with another role model for bravery and courageous living. I will refer back to her words for a long time.

Her writing gives me the courage to stay on the path I have launched for myself and to know that whatever happens, I will be a-okay.

This has been quite a week. I had an unexpected exchange with someone that left me shaky at first. But with a few minutes reflection, I knew I had written the words I wanted to convey and that the earth had not shattered. Not long after, I passed a colleague in the hallway and she told me to keep owning whatever I was owning. I was gobsmacked. She has NO IDEA all the inner work I am up to these days, and her comment confirmed that the work is showing.

Then yesterday the FaceBook memory vault reminded me that two years ago I had written this. I re-read it when it popped up, and I was stunned. I remember writing those words, but I feel so distanced from that woman who trembled as she thought those thoughts and wrote those words. Dan and I reflected on that essay this morning. "You'd barely scratched the surface of what you had to write. Well, not even scratched the surface," he said.

"Right. In that moment, I was blowing the dust off the surface."

When I "girded up my loins" (my favorite expression for bracing myself and moving forward) and strung those words together, I could not imagine the peace I would feel in two years. I was wracked with worry and anxiety because I could not fathom what shape my new life would take.  I couldn't foresee the hard terrain that would unfold ahead of me. I traversed that rocky path. I persevered. I got a grip on my fears and discarded them as I walked forward. And hey, here I am! Thriving and writing my way through. I am so grateful for this blog and the chronicle of my journey it has become. I am grateful every time I had the sense to write where I was--no matter how unsure or vulnerable I felt.

I have always bristled at the career development or interview question, Where do you see yourself in five years? I've never been good at answering the question. I would blame the limits of my imagination, but now I understand it's because I rely so heavily on serendipity to guide my next steps. There is so little of life that can be planned. I certainly couldn't have imagined that I'd be a divorced writer-mama. And yet, here I am. I feel more "who I really am" than at any other point in my life. And the way that feels will guide me for the rest of my life.

I have no idea where I will be in another two years, but I am thrilled by the prospects and the adventure of the unknown. It's the reason I am writing this post. Another entry into the record of time. Another mark on the measuring stick of how far I have come.  What I do know is that yoga, writing, and traveling (or dreaming about the next trip) will be part of the mix.

Writing really is the solution for all my troubles. When I started this post, I didn't know what to do with myself. I wasn't sure how to move forward with my day in the happy glow of a great reading experience. "Go to your blog" was the whisper I heard. I followed my gut, cranked up the John Mayer playlist on Spotify and started typing. And again, here I am! Happy, grounded, and ready to do to what I love best--read a great book.

Collage as art, souvenir, and meditation

When I'm not telling stories in words, I tell them with images through collage. I have always found comfort and creativity in the cutting and pasting of images that catch my eye. I'm not an artist in the traditional sense, but I am able to create something unique and beautiful through my collages.

I have created collages for most of my travels abroad. These souvenirs are my answer to scrapbooking. The benefit of the collage for me is that when I hang the framed collection of memories on the wall, I can relive my trip every day rather than having to pull a photo album off the shelf, which I likely wouldn't do.

Like succinct writing, collage requires an economy of images to tell the overall story. There isn't room to include every photo from the trip, so I choose the ones that help tell the story best.

This past Christmas I used my collaging skills to create a gift for Cadence. I had a Coldplay calendar that had been a prized gift from a friend in the UK from a few years back. I decided to dismantle the calendar and to choose images to create a memento to remember our summer Coldplay concert experience. I chose a calendar page for each of us and then created notecards from other images. I enjoyed giving the calendar a new life through the collages and notecards. It seemed a better way to honor my friend's gift than to let it collect dust on a shelf somewhere.

This is the collage I made for my daughter. It includes a LOVE pin they handed out at the doors, confetti that fell from the ceiling, and her ticket stub.

I wasn't prepared for her reaction. “This is one of my favorite gifts! I love it. Thank you so much, Mommy! Can I take it with me to college?”

Her reaction restored my faith in the idea that handmade gifts carry a lot of weight and meaning. And that the best gifts don't have to cost a lot of money.

She's commented about her collage repeatedly since Christmas. When I asked her why she loved it so much, she told me, “Because it's a good memory from an awesome concert.”

That's exactly what I wanted it to be for her. That night in July was pretty amazing. I hope when she looks at the collage she remembers that our seats were close enough to the floor that she walked away from me to get a closer look at the lead singer, Chris Martin, as he walked through the audience. I hope she remembers the excitement she felt when she returned to her seat and yelled, “I touched Chris Martin's arm!”

No matter how big a fan I am, I would never have had the gumption to reach out to my favorite singer. Never. Not in my forties, and definitely not when I was nine. Her moxie in that moment made me admire her even more than I already did.

This weekend I felt a little restless, so I worked on my collage to complete the Coldplay collection. With scissors, rubber cement, glue gun, and quiet creativity at the ready, I put the elements of my collage together. The process was like meditation. I quieted the noisy chatter in my mind with each snip of paper and swipe of glue. It is true: art heals and soothes and makes the world better.

Labyrinth Walk with a Friend

My last walk through the labyrinth was last October. How time flies! I had mentioned to my friend, Renee, that I'd like to take her for a walk through the labyrinth if she was interested. She gave me an enthusiastic yes, so we set a date and marked our calendars.

The morning was crisp and the sunshine bright. We talked for a few minutes in the car before walking to the path. We paused to read the sign to introduce Renee to the history of the labyrinth. Before we started the walk, we agreed that we would walk at our own pace, and meet in the middle. Renee had the great idea to sit on the ground in the middle of the labyrinth with our backs touching. This way we could have our own space, but still feel connected to one another.

In the car Renee shared that her daughter was traveling abroad and having a profound, life-changing experience, so that was what we were focusing on as we took our walk. I was there to guide her through the experience for the first time and to hold space for her as she thought about her daughter's experience a continent away.

Walking the labyrinth with others always reminds me that my default walking speed is fast. I have to be really mindful about slowing down, breathing, and allowing space between us. I was restless as I walked. My thoughts were bouncing around everywhere. I couldn't seem to get my breathing, thoughts, and walking to sync up. I worked on not judging this and kept walking.

Sitting back-to-back, I directed my focus to the giant tree ahead of me. In this space, leaning against my dear friend is where I achieved a sense of peace and calm. I took in the deep blue of the sky and marveled at the way the autumnal sun makes the world glimmer.

I thought about Renee. I prayed that she was having a positive experience. I prayed for her daughter. I thought about how we come from different religious faiths, and how grateful I was that she was open to this spiritual practice of mine.

After a time, I was ready to begin winding my way out of the labyrinth.  Since I was walking ahead this time, I felt less pressure that I would be walking too fast. The restlessness I felt was gone. Peace and calm had washed over me.

Renee and I met at the bench afterwards. We sat in silence for awhile and then we began sharing our experiences. I needed the girl talk and especially from a sister-friend who is further along in years and experience. She helped me untangle some of the questions weighing on me about motherhood and life in general.

I am so grateful for the labyrinth in my life. I love how each visit is so unique and teaches me new things or reflects back to me the things I'm working through at the time. 

There are a few other labyrinths in the city I have not yet visited, and Renee said she would go with me. I look forward to adding those trips to my spring calendar.